A Portrait of Albus' Reflection in the Mirror of Erised
by whisperofyourheart
Summary: This is a story examining the Dumbledore x Grindelwald relationship in its infancy, how Albus fell in love with Gellert, the "Greater Good" ascent to power, and how it all fell to shambles... Rated M for lime (mild sexual content), slash romance, dark themes. It seems to go without saying; nevertheless: All original material belongs to J.K. Rowling I'm just borrowing her magic. :)
1. Prologue

**_Author's note: This is my first attempt at a multi chaptered fic. Be nice, but also not too nice :) Some notes on the story: I'm trying to keep it as canon as possible so if you notice discrepancies please let me know in a review or PM. AS far as emulating the tone and ambience of original series, I'm not really aiming for that because I feel the setting for this story, being 100 years in the past, warrants a different sort of feel. :) That's all I got for now. Most importantly, enjoy._**

Prologue

The Beginning.

Godric's Hollow was a town laid to waste by the frequent English chilly spells that froze the twisting grapevines crawling over crooked fences. Heavy rains melted the ice ponds, creating little puddles in the grooves and ridges of the dusty cobblestoned streets. It was a labyrinth of narrow, jutting roads, each with a stray cat that would chase rats across streets, dodging rattling carriages pulled along by sleek brown mares. Each wrought iron gate belonging to some handsome estate had its own personality. It was a town that had witnessed history depicted in the school children's little brown books- all the bloody sieges and mutilated bodies on English soil, the serfs toiling under the heavy hot sun and the interchanging smiles at the infant Queen and now- to this wet and rainy day in mid-June. It was a typical West County day of softly pattering raindrops on windows and babies suckling on their mothers' breasts, fathers reading the paper all in symphonic harmony to the backdrop of tinkling china and whistling kettles.

Do not be deceived, for this nondescript town could not be further from your ordinary small town in the West of England.

You see, at the turn of the 11th century, Godric's Hollow opened its doors to a young man carrying a secret. And ever since, the dust rising up at the sides of the road became thicker, and the air sometimes became colder, and there was an indescribable sense of _strangeness_. Words aren't sufficient- it was the ineffable feeling of something great and ancient which permeated the senses of all the folk who lived in the small town.

Gellert Grindelwald arrived to this inconsequential yet great town like the ravaging gusty winds that characterized the end of spring time. He came as an inconsequential boy of seventeen with ambitions of a great wizard.

One moment, the morning carriage had rattled round the corner of the street, leaving a cloud of dust behind it- the next, the dust had dissipated to reveal a dark silhouette, billowing cloak fluttering around rumpled ankles. A boy, teetering on the verge of manhood, with a well defined jaw and cheekbones but with the remnants of youthful roundness about his cheeks, emerged from the cloud. He had a shrewd look about him that suited his enigmatic entrance, and a certain mischievous glint to his eyes that spelled strife.

Behind the boy was a house, a low, stooped brown cottage that belonged to one old damsel named Bathilda Bagshot. Miss Bagshot, as the other folk in Godric's Hollow knew, was a spinster who had lived alone for twenty years, ever since the mysterious death of Mr. Bagshot when he'd left for a business trip to a country in Africa. It was whispered she had gone a bit batty ever since, although there wasn't much to be said for that; for Bathilda Bagshot had the same strange air surrounding her that had once surrounded a young man carrying a secret centuries ago.

As soon as Gellert appeared, the gate to the brown cottage swung open and it was Miss. Bagshot who came hobbling out in her customary black cloak.

"Gellert!" she said, her voice quavery and rather high pitched. It sounded as if she hadn't used it in a long time. One bony hand reached out and gripped the boy's arm in what seemed to be for him a trying display of affection.

"Hello, Aunt Bathilda," the boy, who was apparently called Gellert, replied politely.

"Your parents told me that you were expelled! What were you thinking, boy? Well never mind that, it's been a long journey-"

"Not particularly- I apparated-."

"-sure you must be starved, I'll have the casserole and pie out of the oven in no time, though your sheets haven't been warmed yet-"

Miss Bagshot continued to babble unendingly, maintaining her steely grip on Gellert's arm as she guided him through the front yard garden to the front door.

"-and I always did tell them Durmstrang was no good, but they wouldn't listen to me and see now I've been landed to teach you! Bother, I'm an old lady who deserves nice long days free of magic. I'm quite finished with my work here. Gellert, in due time when you've grown old and your bones are rotting like mine you'll understand. Now, if you go upstairs, turn right on the landing and you'll find your room the second on the left. I'm afraid, like I said before, the sheets aren't warm yet but I daresay you'll find it agreeable. And one last thing before I- I, Gellert, dear? Is something the matter?"

Mrs. Bagshot realized that the arm she had been gripping had vanished. Gellert stood some feet away from her standing apparently transfixed by the sight of a solitary book on the window sill.

"Who would've thought…" he murmured, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Hmm?"

"Aunt Bathilda, you have a lovely _mimbulus mimbletonia_ , though it could probably use a bite of frog spawn."

Miss. Bagshot chuckled. "Now, Gellert. I think I know what this is about. But let me tell you this, flattery won't work! So no, you may not use the floo power at your leisure. I'm under strict orders from your father to keep you in this sad old village. Now run along."

But Miss. Bagshot had miscalculated. It wasn't the pot of shimmery green power that Gellert had had his eyes on. It was the book beside it, the faded brown cover decorated with a most peculiar symbol; that of a triangular eye-like shape, encompassing a crudely drawn stick.

When Miss Bagshot had left the room, Gellert strode across the room and picked up the book.

Thumbing through the book, he rifled through the pages rapidly until his eyes fell upon a paragraph that caught his eye.

"...First recounted in the ever popular _The Tales of Beedle and Bard_ , the legend of the Deathly Hallows has fascinated wizards and witches all around Europe since the book's first publication in the 15th century. With no shortage of ambition, many of these wizards have attempted to find the trio of immortality, power, and secrecy- ignoring, to the chagrin of others, cautions on the futility of the task. Indeed, the very existence of the Deathly Hallows has been doubted- after all, its tale was publicised in a children's story book. Still, Hallows enthusiasts remain firm in their conviction that not only do the Hallows exist, but the destroying of their transparency must transgress. Possession of the objects woven by Death himself is a worthwhile pursuit… but how are we to begin to find these evasive and enigmatic objects of power?"

"Yes, _worthwhile_ …. yes…" Gellert murmured to himself as he snapped shut the book. The dust had fallen away during his perusal, leaving only a dog-eared and worn out book with peeling leather and bent pages- a book that looked ready to be perused and read time and time again by its owner.

He pointed his wand at the book and tapped it twice.

 _"Geminio"_.

An exact replica shimmered into existence. Grinning, Gellert carefully placed the clone next to the woefully neglected _mimbulus mimbletonia_ on the window sill and stowed the original copy into his robes.

Behind the windswept locks of golden hair were eyes alive with hungry excitement.

"Gellert! Where are you? Come down the hall and put your trunk down in your room." Miss Bagshot's thin voice could be heard echoing and bouncing about the thin drafty walls, creating the impression that three Miss Bagshots were speaking all at once.

"I want to call on some of the neighbouring wizarding families this afternoon," she said, hobbling back into the kitchen, her voice returning back to normal. "Many lovely people who I daresay you'll find quite interesting… if I'm not mistaken there should be a few boys around your age as well… "

After Gellert had levitated his trunk to his room and performed a nifty charm on the casserole and pie that had, quite forgotten by Miss Bagshot, burnt around the edges in the oven, Miss Bagshot steered Gellert out the brown house, out of the wrought iron gate, letting the gates close behind them with a definite click.

Like how other children fell asleep with sweet dreams of love potions and Honeydukes sweets, Gellert Grindelwald went to sleep with thoughts of indomitable, ever conquering power. He yearned for it during his infancy, his childhood, and his days as a student at Durmstrang.

And now, as an adult, he thought of it incessantly, obsessively- every thought invariably laced with images of himself holding the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak.

 _Gellert Grindelwald, the Master of Death, the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth,_ he thought in his head with relish.

He who now walked down an innocuous road, in an unsuspecting English villiage looking the very picture of innocence, accompanied by an oblivious old witch. But beneath the handsome face and charming demeanour was a thirst for power- the bottle had been broken, the ambition pouring forth uncontrollably, the magical blood coursing through his veins warm with anticipation.

And so our story begins.


	2. Chapter I

On the same afternoon Gellert Grindelwald arrived in Godric's Hollow, Kendra Dumbledore was residing in her two story colonial-style dwelling just five houses away from Mrs. Bagshot's residence. She was standing by the stove where a pot of water was boiling. Outside the rain pattered on the window intermittently. Kendra Dumbledore sighed, her gaze drifting from the bubbling hot water to the small vegetable garden outside. Several rows of radish, carrot, tomato and pumpkin plants were rapidly growing in size due to an engorgement charm Ariana had accidentally set on them earlier.

No sooner had her thoughts strayed to her daughter than the very young girl in question came sidling in through the kitchen door.

"Mum?"

Despite the troubling thoughts plaguing her mind, Kendra's tired, brooding visage broke out into a faint smile at the sight of her youngest and only daughter.

"Come here darling," Kendra ordered softly. The girl ran into her mother's arms and Kendra wrapped her arms around the girl's small frame, stroking the long golden locks that spilled over her shoulders.

Of Kendra's three children, Ariana alone had inherited her own flaxen hair. The two boys, Albus and Aberforth, took after their father Percival in almost every respect- thick unruly auburn hair that seemed to grow faster than the plants in the vegetable garden, long sloping noses, thin faces and bright blue eyes.

At the thought of Percival Dumbledore, Kendra faced darkened and the corners of her mouth tightened.

"Mum, when are Albus and Aberforth coming home?"

"Tomorrow night, dear," Kendra said distantly. "They're very excited to see you soon."

"Is father coming with them?" This, spoken with a slight tremor.

Kendra's brow furrowed. She got up suddenly and walked over to the stove so Ariana couldn't see her expression.

Mrs. Dumbledore was silent for a long time. Eventually she said evenly, "No, he isn't. Not tomorrow night. Go back to your room, tea will be ready soon."

Ariana didn't know where her father was, exactly, but she knew that it must be a nasty, horrible place, because mother and the boys always became distinctly upset whenever the topic of Percival Dumbledore was brought up. She also knew, with her keen child's sense of intuition, that it was somehow her fault.

It had been seven years since when Percival Dumbledore was hauled off by Ministry authorities, never to be seen again. It had happened so long ago- yet it seemed not very long ago at all. The pain of having him stripped away remained fresh in the grieving family he left behind. There would be no forgetting him, it seemed.

His trial had been a trying affair; Kendra, his wife, had not only remained steadfastly by his side through the whole process but also tended to the needs of the children, who were frightened and confused by the novelty of the adult world and the possibility that their father might be stripped away from them. Then there was the entire wizarding community- a horde of gossip-hungry vultures, Kendra had once thought angrily to herself. The Daily Prophet had been relentless, publishing vicious slanders and angry diatribes for Percival Dumbledore's purported crimes, no doubt influencing a good number of the jury members as they deliberated.

At the end of the trial, the larger half of the jury voted Percival "guilty" and charged him with three accounts of assault and a breach of the Criminal Code for the Concealment and Separation of Muggles from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It had cost the Obliviator Headquarters nearly insurmountable effort to erase the memories of the three Muggle boys who had been victim to Percival's attacks, and even more collateral damage to tend to were the injuries they had retained.

Perhaps the three children may have had their father back if it weren't for the fact that Percival Dumbledore had crossed forbidden territory- he'd used an Unforgivable.

The Cruciatus curse, known to inflict lasting mental and emotional damage on its victims, was particularly abhorred for this very reason. A person who has tasted the unthinkable torture will never truly forget it- the ghost of their pain and anguish haunts them forever.

So in the eyes of the jury and the solicitors, indeed in the eyes of every witch and wizard in Great Britain, Percival Dumbledore was a cruel and sadistic Muggle-hater who had lashed out at three innocent, unsuspecting young Muggle boys. They would now be invariably and permanently linked to one of the darkest aspects of magic.

The sentence was life in Azkaban.

Life in Azkaban… as she heard the words ring out shrilly in the vast courtroom, Kendra Dumbledore's vision blackened and her knees buckled. She managed to catch herself before she fell to the floor. Now she was staring at her hands, the sounds of the courtroom had become a distant hum. How could it be? She would never see her beloved husband again. She would never be able to see him, or hear his voice, or feel his strong and assuring arms around her.

Percival would never get to see young Albus, just days away from his 11th birthday, board the Hogwarts Express as the first of their children to embark on the great educational journey. He would never see Aberforth learn how to mount a broom for the first time, or watch Ariana grow into a beautiful young lady. As if she were submerged deeply in water and hearing everything muffled and contorted, a loud exclamation from somewhere within the buzzing crowd of shocked spectators and gleeful reporters brought her to the present. In a trance, she lifted her head and watched her husband have his hands shackled, two Dementors flanking either side of him.

"Daddy!" Ariana screamed. Her tear streaked and red face was full of sheer panic and fear. "Daddy, no!" She broke down into frightened sobs, clinging to her mother.

The spectators in the courtroom winced at the child's shrill treble tones. Though they had no sympathy for the man now being led to his doom, they couldn't help but pity his young daughter.

Just before Percival was hauled out the courtroom, he locked eyes with Kendra and on his ashen face, there was pain, anguish, and an ample amount of fear—oh yes, fear such that even a mighty Gryffindor such as himself couldn't escape.

But there was also a look of flinty determination and pride in his steely blue eyes, as if to say he was unrepentant of what he had done, and willing to reap the consequences of his actions.

That was the last memory Kendra had of her husband- his blue eyes searing with tenacity. If there was nothing else to be grateful for, she could linger on the thought of him being brave for her until the end.

Still, the whole affair was horrible- traumatizing for the children. Kendra didn't resent her husband for his actions but she rued and lamented the day it had all began.

A loud crash from within the house startled her out of her thoughts. Kendra rushed upstairs to find Ariana whimpering in the corner of the bathroom. She had shattered the mirror with the magic coursing uncontrollably through her veins, wreaking havoc through her small body. Shards of broken glass lay scattered on the floor. A small piece had cut Ariana when the glass broke and a dribble of blood now feel from her soft cheeks to her shaking hands below.

Kendra took out her wand.

" _Reparo."_

The pieces flew back together, leaving the mirror pristine as it had always been.

Ariana's whimpers had broken out into quiet sobs. Mrs. Dumbledore knelt on the floor and cradled her daughter, comforting her, just as she'd done a hundred times from the day Percival Dumbledore left the family forever.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was attacked by an onslaught of typical Scottish rain sometime during mid-afternoon. Rain beat down heavily on the scarlet red roof of the train, creating a cacophonous symphony of sorts that was very familiar to the young witches and wizards who were now creating a riotous symphony of their own to rival that of the rain. A group of rowdy seventh year boys from Gryffindor threw all caution to the wind and gleefully set to breaking all the rules—after all, they had graduated now, what could the school do to them? _Expel_ them?

Creating quite the rucus, they broke into each of the compartments, flinging dungbombs at unsuspecting groups of students, throwing exploding snaps into the hallways, jinxing Slytherins behind their backs and then laughing quite loudly and unforgivingly when their targets hit the mark. The vengeful Slytherins would then set about rectifying their newly grown antlers or tentacular arms—but not before hitting a jelly legs jinx at their pursuers.

In the far south of the train was a quiet little compartment inhabited by a lone student. Quite removed from the antics of his fellow graduates was a remarkably lanky boy with brilliant blue eyes and long auburn hair. Albus Dumbledore sat in an empty compartment on his own, his face buried in a book and his long nose brushing the pages as he read. At this moment, the compartment door slid open.

Elphias Doge, Albus' friend of seven years, was a smallish boy with a pasty complexion and a bumbling but patient personna. It would have been very difficult to tell he was nearly eighteen if it weren't for a most misplaced object of sophistication upon his black robes. Elphias took out a gold watch upon which there were twelve hands, no numbers, and little planets moving around the edges, glanced at it, then tucked it back into his breast pocket with a little pat. He greeted his friend quite cheerfully then stepped hurriedly into the compartment to escape the chaos in the hallways but was hit in the head with a curse just before he closed the door.

"I say! Their school days are done and they're still carrying about in this manner," said a rather disgruntled Elphias. "I'd expect now that we're part of the real world, they'd behave more dignified." And as if to prove himself, he sat down on the plush seat with a dignified look about him which was much undermined by his small stature.

"I've checked, and we're four hours away from London. Goodness, how times have passed! It seems just yesterday I was saying the same thing to you, only we were going to Hogwarts to start seventh year… Oh bother, what have they done this time… oh, not this again…" Elphias' face was bursting into large red boils that in a matter of seconds formed a pattern on his face that read DUNCE.

He took out his wand and accidentally jabbed one of his boils in the process. Wincing, he cleared his throat and recited the counter charm.

Nothing happened.

"Albus…" he glanced towards his friend sheepishly.

Without so much as glancing up from his book, Albus swished his wand silently and the boils disappeared.

"Cheers," said Elphias, relieved. "What're you reading there, old chap?"

Albus looked up from his book then, and a genuine smile broke out on his placid face. "Egypt, dear Elphias. I've been reading up on all the places we plan on visiting and they're all utterly fascinating."

"What've you learnt about Egypt, then?" asked Elphias eagerly.

"Well, we learnt from Professor Binns that Cleopatra was the descendant of the great witch Morgana who was the first to manipulate some of the elements of the atmosphere."

"Sand, copper, and iron," recited Elphias with a slight cringe, whose last History of Magic NEWT exam was still horrifyingly fresh in his mind.

"Precisely. But did you know that the power to command these elements soon became a hereditary gift? There are witches and wizards- the descendants of Cleopatra- who are the masters of these elements."

"The masters…?"

"They don't need their wands, much less an incantation. The sands of the Egyptians desert simply bend to their every will. Perhaps that is the secret to how they built the pyramids so rapidly and successfully."

"They don't need their wands?" said an astonished Elphias. "Why- it's not possible. There have been cases of wizards performing singular spells without their wands in moments of peril but to be the possessor of an element of the universe…"

"Amazing, isn't it?" said a smiling Albus. "The more I read of the magical communities that live in different parts of the world, the more I realize how much we Brits have to learn from others. Imagine, just imagine, if we could learn to become masters of not only sand but air, water, fire..."

"We can," Elphias pointed out. "It's a simple spell, isn't it? For fire, I mean. "Incendio". After all- Oh! Oh dear! Oh no, I didn't meant to- goodness, that's quite a fire. Where's my blasted wand?"

A small fire now blazed merrily on the seat cushion that Elphias' wand had been carelessly pointed at. It spit out cheerful sparks like a firework, and fumes filled the room, making both boys choke and cough.

Elphias waved his wand, aghast. "It's been in my hand the whole time! Don't worry, Albus, I'll- Oh dear, I've forgotten- ah wait, no, I've got it: _Aguamenti."_

The fire went out with a sizzle beneath the thin stream of water issuing out of Elphias' wand. As the smoke cleared, there revealed a gaping, charred black hole where the cushion once was. Smoke filled the little compartment as the two boys continued to cough uncontrollably. At this rather inopportune time, the compartment door slid open.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" asked the beaming trolley lady. Then she doubled over at the sight that met her eyes. "My word! What's happened in here?"

"Yes, I'll have a pumpkin pasty," Albus began hoarsely, but Elphias bounced up and slammed the compartment door shut. "Nothing to worry about, just a little magical mishap! Ha! We don't need anything, thank you!" He returned to his seat, grimacing.

"Now, erm, what were you saying earlier, Albus? About, er, fire or something of the sort..?" He took out a handkerchief and began dabbing at his watering eyes.

"Oh, yes. I was thinking we Brits could be even more powerful if we unveiled the secrets of all the magical communities in the world. For instance, the theorem behind being a controller of the elements- why, we could go beyond what the Egyptians have done and soon have utter control over all the elements of the world. Well, it would be wonderful if we could all come together and exchange what we know with each other, wouldn't it, Elphias?"

"Oh, of course, of course," replied the smaller boy, squinting. He was wiping soot off his spectacles on his robes rather vigorously.

"But I do believe," he continued, placing his freshly cleaned spectacles back on, "Britain is still the best there is. We may be neck to neck with Romania in Quidditch, but we founded the best school in the history of witchcraft and wizardry: Hogwarts. You couldn't deny that could you, Albus?"

"I could never deny how fond I am of the castle," Albus agreed, his eyes twinkling. "But I'm sure students from Beauxbatons would likely disagree with you, Elphy."

Elphias harumphed, clearly not too concerned with the opinion of the French. "I suppose we will still visit France?"

"If you wish," said Albus. He bookmarked his page in _The Myths and Mysteries of the Middle East_ and placed it to the side. "At any rate, I think simply learning about all the Ministries of Magic would be a good start. I wonder if they are structured similarly to our British ministry?"

"Nevermind that, Albus. You ought to pick up as much as you can to take back to Britain when you become the Minister of Magic. It doesn't matter how much you deny it, for you know it will be you someday."

"My dear Elphias, as I have reiterated countless times, someone like me couldn't possibly lead a country! A minister ought to have ideas- opinions- and strong ones at that. I only ever read books. It's a mystery to myself as to why the Sorting Hat didn't put me in Ravenclaw, as it seems it ought to have."

The two boys laughed. Elphias looked at his friend with admiration in his eyes. "Well, I'm certainly glad it put you where you evidently belong, which is Gryffindor. I reckon I would have muddled my way through the years in a most unbecoming manner had it not been for you, Albus."

"You're a great wizard, Elphias. You only haven't realized it yet."

And the two young wizards spent the rest of the train ride- their last ride on the Hogwarts Express- in such a manner, in blissful anticipation of their impending tour of the world outside the castle walls, their undoubtedly bright futures, and the happy times to come.

* * *

Presently, at nightfall, the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 and ¾ whereupon some students scrambled to change back into Muggle clothing, some hauled their trunks to the exits, shoving younger first years and second years out of the way, and some exchanged tearful hugs and words of affection and farewell with their friends.

Albus and Elphias hauled their trunks off the train and stood, looking at each other.

"I'll see you in a fortnight, then," said Elphias, nervously scanning the crowd for his father. At this moment, a gruff looking wizard in a porkpie suit waved in their direction. "Ah there he is. Oh bollocks, he's gone and tried to dress like a Muggle again. I always tell him not to bother, he does look so ridiculous! But no matter. I'll be going, then." And off he went.

"Until tomorrow," Albus murmured. Then he spotted a yellow blur streaking towards him.

"Albus!" Ariana launched herself at her older brother and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

Albus' eyes betrayed only a second of shock; then he was as placid as always. "'Lo, Ariana," he said, chuckling when she refused to let go. It was hard to resist his sister's infectious spirit. He beamed at her and returned the embrace as Kendra came up from behind, smiling at her son.

"'Lo, mum," said Albus, letting go of his sister to kiss his mother.

"How was your last term, dear? Oh, and where's that brother of your's? He's always the last one to get off the train, tut!"

"I expect he's saying goodbyes to his friends for the summer."

"I daresay he has too many of them! Ah, there he comes."

And from the steamy fog surrounding the train emerged another Albus- but slightly younger. The two boys could have been identical twins in their striking resemblance of one another only Albus was slightly taller than his younger brother.

"'Lo, mum," said Aberforth, grinning cheerfully. He kissed her soundly on the cheek, then turned to his brother. "'Alright', Albus? Where've you been this whole time, reliving your exams to make sure you got everything right, I expect?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attentions to his younger sister and picked her up without qualms, to which she squealed delightedly.

"Well, shall we go then? Boys, you have your trunks? Good, _locomotor motis._ The portkey's waiting for us. No dawdling about, Aberforth. You've had your time to speak to your friends."

Even so, the younger Dumbledore son was bombarded by well wishers and friends as the family made their way to the wall separating the magical world from the mundane.

"See you next year, Dumbledore!"

"Alright' mate? You have a good summer, then."

Amongst the group of boys thumping Aberforth on the arm and ruffling his hair, a few nodded deferentially towards Albus and offered congratulations on his graduation.

"Hi, Aberforth," came a warm feminine voice. A girl with fiery red hair and a delicate sort of face dotted with freckles stood before them, blushing as she met Aberforth's eyes.

"Alright', Finnegan?" said Aberforth, grinning.

"I just wanted to say goodbye for the summer, and, well, I'll see you in September. Would it- would it be alright if I wrote to you occasionally?" She blushed deeper as she said this.

"I would be honored." He winked at her, causing the girl to turn a shade almost as red as her hair.

Kendra frowned at her younger son when they'd crossed through the barrier. "I'm not sure you should flirt about so, dear. Young girls are sensitive creatures, you know. I'd like to see more gentlemanly decorum from you. I don't fancy you becoming one of those men who tease girls all the time."

"Who, I?" said Aberforth a little too innocently. He smirked as Ariana giggled. "Oh, mum, next time let me take care of the luggage, wouldn't you? I can take care of myself, you know."

Kendra sighed; it was clear to her Aberforth wasn't so keen to be responsible as he was to impress the pretty redhead they'd encountered on platform 9 and ¾. She led the children down a dark alleyway behind King's Cross station. "You're not of age yet, Aberforth. And keep an eye out for a discarded lady's evening shoe, children," she called out.

"Mum, I see it!" Ariana cried, tugging on her mother's hand. In a dark corner lay an open toed black high heeled shoe that was faintly emitting a blue glow.

Kendra grasped the shoe. "Everyone, make sure you don't let go. It shall only be another minute."

The three Dumbledore children squeezed into a huddle as they each kept a finger firmly on the portkey. To a stranger who may have been watching, this would have appeared a very strange sight indeed, but as it was, the dark alleyway was deserted, entirely bereft of Londoners. It was a common site for wizards and witches commuting from King's Cross to plant their portkeys in this quiet, unassuming alleyway.

Kendra used her free hand to maintain a firm grip on Ariana's upper arm. "Nearly there, 3, 2, 1…"

Albus felt the familiar tug in his navel and shut his eyes as he felt himself being jerked into a tunnel of air. He opened one eye slightly and saw Ariana hanging onto their mother with her eyes shut tightly and her long flaxen hair blowing waywardly about.

As they landed on the grass hill overlooking Godric's Hollow, Albus felt a queer sense of loss, combined with jubilation. He was home now, with the world as his oyster. The where's and who's and what's that awaited him filled him with an intense, almost anxious sort of anticipation. Yet he would never go back to Hogwarts. It was his home no longer, though he could always visit in the future.

But it would never be the same.

The sun had set long ago; the sky was now a dark blue canvas upon which twinkling stars lay speckled and abundant. A crescent moon loomed from behind the remnants of the day's stormy, gray clouds. As Aberforth and Ariana raced each other down the hill, kicking up dirt and grass in their wake, their laughs echoing across the valley, Albus fell into pace with his mother some ways behind them. His young face wore a rather grave countenance.

"Mother," he said quietly, "Why did you let Ariana come out today?"

Kendra sighed and looked away, either unable to unwilling to talk. Her face fell into lines of sadness.

"Mum," Albus urged gently. "Why?"

"It was a moment of weakness for me," she admitted, after a long pause. "Ariana hasn't been outside in so long and the thought of keeping her cooped up any longer was just unbearable to me. Today, I was willing to endanger a train station full of people for her happiness." She sighed, then smiled wearily at her older son. "It's the curse of being a mother. You love your children more than anything, even for the worse." She drew Albus close to her and kissed him. "But Albus Percival, you're much too thoughtful for a boy your age. You ought to be getting into scrapes and skirmishes, you know. I know since your father left…"

"I'm old enough to take his place," Albus said earnestly. "As soon as I return from my travels with Elphias, I shall take up a job and help you support the family."

"That's exactly what you don't need to do," said Kendra fiercely. "As long as I'm here, there's no need for you to start acting the man. Remember that. Now run in and wash up for bed for it's quite late."

As Albus and Kendra crossed the threshold to their home, the former couldn't help thinking of another world, in which his mother was reunited with their father, Ariana could attend Hogwarts with her two brothers, and all was well and at peace… A world in which those Muggle boys never chanced to see Ariana's magic, never even existed… He wondered if there was something in the world that could still save his family, anything at all… He felt as though he would do anything to obtain it, if it existed at all…

Five houses down from the Dumbledore dwelling, the home of Bathilda Bagshot was dark and quiet, save for the old lady's rumbling snores. A singular window facing the backyard was the only sign of life, for within it, a single candle burned brightly, illuminating the dusty pages of a book that told of three legendary objects.

A dragonfly flew through the open window. It danced in front of the candlelight, casting dark flickering shadows across the pages of the book.

Gellert gave it a cursory glance, then flicked his wand nonchalantly and murmured " _Avada Kedavra"._

The fly fell dead to the floor. The candle burned interrupted. And no one but the moon and stars noticed the flash of bright green emanate from his window.


End file.
